


Economy Class

by theweddingofthefoxes



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, coming on chests, drug references, grouchy hux, illicit plane handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 15:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11360172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theweddingofthefoxes/pseuds/theweddingofthefoxes
Summary: Posting one of my more popular ficlets on AO3-based on this prompt from cuppyren: What if busy businessman Hux experiences the woes of a booking error on his flight and instead of flying business class as expected, he has to fly coach and is seated next to Kylo, who has already spread out over both seats. (if they get handsy under the provided "blankets" I would not be unhappy about it)





	Economy Class

“That’s absolutely impossible,” Hux tells the gate agent. “My company always flies me business class. Always.”

The gate agent was a battle-axe, a survivor of years and years in the industry, utterly unbreakable and unflappable, even in the face of Hux’s barely-contained fury. She had the coolest, most unconcerned expression on her face as she said, “You’ll have to take that up with your company, sir. It is not the fault of the airline that someone else bought a ticket that you do not like.”

“But business class is boarding–”

“I understand that sir, but you are not in business class for this flight.” She looked at him with something that might have been kindness and might have been contempt. “I assure you that if in that time, anything terrible happens to you, we will be happy to address it.”

Hux had plenty more fight in him, but he could tell that this woman would simply not budge, and if he spent too much more time attempting it, he’d miss this flight and fuck his entire trip’s schedule up. Part of him was tempted, just to see if he could wrangle business class on the next flight, but another part of him knew that it was impossible. He had a presentation to give first thing the next morning and if he missed it, his job was on the line. With a sigh, he pushed back a strand of hair that had come loose in his anger and resigned himself to the line, gritting his teeth as two kids in front of him fought, fists flying, over whose turn it was to play the Nintendo DS. Watch me get seated right next to these brats, he thought.

Well, he wasn’t. Just right ahead of them. Perfect for them to kick my seat. He was looking so longingly at the business-class seats that he was passing that he nearly walked right past seat seat 20A. Also–it was already occupied. The guy in it was tall and broad, with one of those stupid man-buns, dressed in jeans and the kind of faded green jacket that looked vintage but was probably from Target for $20. One leg was sprawled across the aisle seat.

“You’re in my seat,” Hux said. 

“Hm?” The guy took off his headphones. “Oh, you’re 20A?”

“Yes, I’m 20A,” Hux said, hating himself for saying it because he really did not belong in 20A but that was his seat and now suddenly he was defensive of it. “Can you–?”

“Do you mind letting me have the window? The drink cart always whacks my knees when it goes past if I sit in the aisle.”

Hux forced himself to imagine how fast he’d be fired if the people on this plane started live-tweeting the breakdown he could feel coming on and it went viral and found its way to his boss. “That’s fine,” he hissed, certain he looked like a man on the brink of murder, and sat himself in the aisle seat. 

“You’re a peach, you know that?”

A peach? Hux frowned. 

“I’ll share my food, to thank you. I bought a ton of shit at the little kiosk before takeoff.”

Hux wasn’t sure he wanted this guy’s food, but something else was alarming to him. “What about our meals?”

“Our meals? We’re not getting meals. Not unless you’re up there.” He pointed up at business class, where Hux belonged, goddamit. “We get pretzels though, and a cup of soda. And beer or wine if you pay extra. And blankets.”

Hux put his tray down so he could lie down on it in despair, but then the flight attendant came over and told him to put it back in its upright position because they were about to take off. 

When they reached their cruising altitude, Hux finally said, “Okay, you know what? I will take some of those snacks.”

The guy’s headphones were on so he tapped him sharply on the shoulder and then pointed down at his bag. “The snacks. You offered me snacks.”

“You talk like a fuckin’ CEO, you know that?” The guy laughed, his dark eyes sparkling. Hux hated that he was noticing how lovely they were, how liquid and dark-lashed.

“I’m up for vice-president of First Order industries, actually.” It was obnoxious, but he couldn’t help letting him know who he was. 

“No way,” the guy said, rummaging through his backpack. “What are you doing in coach?”

Hux gritted his teeth. “They usually put me in business, but they made a mistake. I couldn’t get the gate agent to fix it.”

This guy had the gall to laugh at him. “Life’s like that, huh? I kind of figured that you weren’t used to sitting back here, with the 99 percent. You didn’t even bring your own snacks.”

“Usually they’re provided.”

“You will get your pretzels, courtesy of the airline. But from me…” Hux could only stare at the bounty inside the backpack, like something out of a Tarantino briefcase, practically glowing. Candy bars, jerky, chips and crackers and cookies. 

“God, you’re a pantry.”

“I’m actually a professor, but thanks.”

“A professor? What do you teach?”

“Art history. I’m heading to the Rijksmuseum.”

“You look like you’re heading to a weed cafe.”

The guy laughed. “I mean. They’re not mutually exclusive now, are they? What about you? I assume probably not weed.”

“We’re hoping to buy out a Dutch company. I usually get sent to do the sales talk.”

They kept eating and talking for a very long time, their music and books and laptops forgotten for thirty minutes, then an hour, then two, as they told each other about their lives. This guy, whose name was Ren, had gotten hired at a university two years before and specialized in Baroque art, and was waiting to find out if a paper he’d written would be published. When the flight attendant came by with the cart (which whacked Hux in the knee instead) offering drinks, Hux bought them both wine.

“You didn’t have to–”

“I didn’t. You stuck me in this awful aisle seat.” But Hux felt himself smile for real. Until he and Ren started talking, he hadn’t smiled once since he’d left for the airport earlier that day. Ren helped himself to a Fig Newton and put on an affected voice.

“Yes, this vintage really brings out the fig flavor. A fine year.”

“I’ll take it back.”

“She’s not going to take it back.”

“No, I’m going to take it back. And drink it myself.”

The wine was the perfect way to settle in for the night, even in these awful uncomfortable coach seats, as they kept talking and joking and teasing one another, finishing off the candy bars. The lights dimmed and Hux felt warm and pleasant under the little blanket provided, not exhausted but just sleepy, and felt even better when he felt Ren’s head slowly drift down to his shoulder. Even better than that when Ren’s hand settled on his thigh.

Everything was quiet.

“Whatever you’re thinking about doing,” Hux whispered in his very quietest voice. “I think you should do it.”

Ren snorted against him. “That’s not business class behavior, now, is it?”

“I’m not in business class,” Hux whispered back, and in responses, he felt Ren’s fingers brush against his belly as he undid the button of his pants. 

“Don’t let anyone hear you,” Ren said. “Won’t that be a scandal?”

“Hush,” Hux said, grinning and grimacing in anticipation, already hard.”

In their hours of chatting, they had not discussed their sex lives whatsoever, so Hux was not prepared for whatever jewel-thief, silent, effective handjob skill that he was almost positive Ren had not learned in any art history class. Who the fuck was this guy? Once more, Hux found himself straining to not make a scene, hoping that his little sharp inhales sounded like the sound of a sleeper and not of a man on the brink of coming for the first time in, God, he didn’t even know how long. 

“Did you like?” Ren whispered in his ear.

Did he _like_???

“What hotel are you staying at in Amsterdam?” Hux asked, already trying to figure out how to get to the bathroom to clean up as quick and quiet as possible before falling asleep for real next to this impossible stranger. 

 

At least Hux’s company hadn’t screwed up his hotel reservation–though after the flight he’d had, he wasn’t sure that it hadn’t been the hand of fate yanking him in some unexpectedly delicious direction rather than a simple oversight by First Order Industries. He checked in and made an immediate beeline to the bathroom, splashing water on his face and raking his wet fingers through his hair, figuring he’d shower after a brief nap. The initial meeting with Meijers would probably be no more than a few hours, and he’d probably want to sleep again, and then….

“You’re probably staying at some classy joint, huh?” Ren had asked him as they pulled into the Schipol airport, 5 am local time. 

“The conferences I’m attending are in the same place, so they sort of had to pick someplace nice for us,” Hux answered. 

“God forbid they don’t.” Ren’s smile was impish. “Or else you’ll have to stay someplace like where I’m staying.”

Low, discreet, Hux murmured, “If the company was right, I think I’d stay just about anywhere.”

Ren chuckled and answered in kind, his lips dangerously close to Hux’s earlobe. “Don’t let your boss hear you say that.” Straightening, in his normal voice, he said, “Anyway, I’m not staying in a dumpster or anything. It’s just a bit more, you know, bohemian.”

“Mmhm. Complimentary consumption, I assume?”

Ren elbowed him. “It’s very nice. I’ve stayed there twice before and it’s clean and comfortable and beautiful. And affordable.”

“If you’re sleeping in a twin bed I’ll kill you,” Hux said, low again.

“Do you think I’d fit in a twin?” Ren laughed wickedly, deep and genuine. “Don’t worry. Private room, queen bed, all that jazz. What time are you finished everything? You can take me to dinner.”

This bold fucker! Hux had never wanted to take anyone to dinner so badly in his life after that. All Hux could think of in the shower, as he settled down in his bed for a power nap. That sly smile when he was saying relatively innocent things but the straight face, how he looked nearly asleep, while his stealthy steady hand was on his cock–

Hux never quite fell asleep. His head was too busy. But he did feel a little clearer-headed by the time his alarm chimed and he dressed to go meet Meijers.

 

Indonesian food was not what Hux was expecting, but Ren knew a place he liked to take them for a late lunch. Ren’s Dutch was atrocious, on the level of Brad Pitt attempting Italian in Inglorious Basterds, but it was miles above Hux’s, which was nonexistent. The waitress smiled and then switched to English, to spare them all. Ren ordered them a sampler platter that took up nearly the entire table. 

“So how’d your meeting go?” Ren wanted to know.

“Oh, I think it went exactly as expected. Truthfully, the Dutch company that First Order Industries was wooing was already interested in merging and just needed that last bit of wining and dining to get into bed with us.”

“Your metaphors are rather telling,” Ren noted. 

“I can’t help what’s on my mind.”

“Oh?”

Hux grinned as he helped himself to some vegetables. “Mmhm. Success.”

“Is that what the successful businessmen call it, then?”

“Success in all things.”

“Let’s drink to that.”

They toasted. 

“Do you think you can keep it in your pants long enough to go to the museum with me?” Ren asked, wiping at his face with a napkin before taking a sip of white wine, which they had decided was okay since it was after 2 pm. 

“You’re the one who took it out,” Hux retorted, and Ren choked. Pounded on his chest a few time before laughing, then coughing again, then laughing.

“You’ve got a point,” he croaked. “Promise I won’t ruin your reputation.”

Hux paid for lunch, even when Ren insisted he’d only been kidding.

The museum visit was fully worth the delay, just to see Ren so happy, entirely in his element. He talked about Vermeer, Hals, Rembrandt, Rubens, all of them like they were old college friends, people that he knew well, sometimes got beers with. And it seemed as though there was nothing he didn’t know. Even if Hux hadn’t gotten thrown into seat 20A (well, 20B) next to him, it was clearly worth hours of posture-ruining sitting in economy just to get to Amsterdam to take this all in again. 

“Do you have tenure yet? At your school?”

“Soon. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Any school would be lucky to have you, Jesus. You’re like a textbook. But interesting.”

“Tell me more,” Ren said, walking them to the gift shop so he could buy (“overpriced, but highly necessary”) books.

“You’re like, the buff professor who’s also incredibly intelligent. You’re like Indiana Jones.”

“And witty, don’t forget witty.”

“Yeah, okay. Are you dragging all those books back to your La Vie Boheme loft?”

“I guess I could make you carry them.”

“I just got finished telling you that you were buff. That means you’re carrying your own things.”

Luckily for Ren (or maybe it didn’t matter, since carrying the books didn’t seem to matter that much), the place where he was staying was a quick walk from the museum. Somewhere between an inn and a bed and breakfast, it was house-turned business sitting right on a canal, looking for all the world like it had been painted there in watercolors. The owner and her wife came to greet them, along with the cat that wandered freely throughout the place. Ren’s room was small–the bed took up most of it– but richly colored, painted pale green and adorned with decorations made by local artisans, and the window looked out onto the canal. 

“I can see why you keep coming back,” Hux said, hovering a bit awkwardly above the bed. Not wanting to overreach. 

“I’ve never stayed with anybody else, though,” Ren said, tucking the bag of books under the bed before peeling off his shirt and then patting the spot beside him. Something had softened in his voice as he said–“I mean, I know this is a little different from, you know, getting your thrills on an airplane–that’s the first time I ever did that, if you can believe it, but what I mean is, if you don’t–I’m not going to be mad or–”

So much for overreaching. Hux used this opportunity to pounce, climbing, in one fluid motion, right into Ren’s lap, letting Ren pull at his previously-unwrinkled collar in order to bring him close enough to kiss, hard.

“Have you really never done that?” Hux asked when they parted, slightly.

“Well, in general, yes, a lot, but not on a _plane_.”

“You say it like it’s outrageous.”

“It is outrageous,” Ren said, between kisses. “I never thought I’d cross that–mm! Particular item off my bucket list with a scowling business type. I’d have bet on some starving artist.”

"Better to get yourself a man who can pay for food.”

“I fully agree,” Ren said. “I’ve seen the light now.”

Hux hitched forward so he could push Ren down onto the bed, still straddling him. “You want me to tell you something I want that no one’s ever let me do?”

"You paid for lunch, you can do whatever you want.” Ren bit his lip. “Within reason. Please don’t like, cut my throat or anything.”

“I’m not Amy Dunne.” Still, Hux blushed as he rushed out his request. “But, I would really like to come on your chest.” He clamped his jaw shut, waiting for Ren to laugh or cringe, the way his previous partners had. 

Instead he propped himself up on his elbows, looking bewildered. “No one ever let you do that? Ever?”

“They thought it was, well. Silly or off-putting.”

"What?” It seemed like it had never occurred to Ren that that might be either of those things. “Jesus, the way you looked when you asked, I thought you wanted to cut off one of my fingers as a keepsake. Yes, of course you can come on my chest.”

Hux let out a low, nervous laugh, like a man who had narrowly avoided being hit by a car. For an instance it seemed like the mood had died a bit, but then Ren’s hands were on his hips and, oh, just kidding, it was fully alive and fully erect, God, how was this real life, how had it only been 24 hours since he had met this guy? It was such a ridiculous thought, a dime store romance novel thought, but he couldn’t help but feel like Ren’s hands were just _meant_ to be on him.

“No offense,” Ren said as he pumped him, “But your past partners were stupid as hell.” He looked up at Hux through his lashes like he knew just how fucking alluring it’d be. “I am going to look…so good with you all over me.”

That wasn’t quite all it took, but it took Hux to the precipice and he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have Ren under him, talking like that, fuck, fuck, fuck–

After he’d finished, Ren took one finger and lazily drew it across his chest, through Hux’s come, like he was licking the last of a dessert off his plate, and the sight of it was enough to make Hux wish he could come again right there.

“How early is your next meeting?” Ren whispered, there was no need to whisper except it felt more intimate and right, somehow.

“Not so early that I can’t stay over.”

“What about your hotel room?”

“I’m not the one paying for it.”

“Tomorrow I’ll spend the night with you. We can get room service.”

“None here?” Hux joked, shuddering again with pleasure as Ren continued to run his fingers along his chest. 

“I’ve still got a ton of candy,” Ren said, groping with one of those long arms around under the bed to draw forth his backpack. “Want some?”

“Oh, absolutely." 

The rest of the evening was spent crinkling open candy bars and eating them while Hux scrolled through emails on his phone and Ren cracked open one of his new books, both of them curled close, devouring chocolate, and every so often, one another.

**Author's Note:**

> Figured this belongs on AO3, finally! Enjoy!


End file.
